"I can't sing to save my life," he whined in frustration and pushed away the phone she was holding close to his lips, to record him singing.

"Come on, you have a pretty good voice; sing along with me please," she requested repeatedly but, he kept saying that his voice sounded like nails screeching on a chalkboard.

"Listen to the soft music your heartbeats make; they do not match pitch or worry about being too squeaky but, they still make beautiful sounds. Please don't think so much about perfection; the more you chase it, the farther it seems; just be someone who you are happy to be."

"So, shall I sing?"

"Sing as much as you want, strum the guitar softly and let the lyrics spell out your heart's wishes. Every tune that is made with love is a piece of music."

"I used to think my voice is horrible that I would choke on my own notes of misery but, now I feel it is worth a shot. Maybe I wouldn't belt out the highest note but, I sure would be on my way to it."

"That's the spirit; chords and symphonies isn't all music is made of; heartbeats breathe life into the motionless words scrawled in ink on purple midnights. It was never about having a good voice; it is about spilling your emotions into notes floating through the air and dotting the piano with your tainted fingers."

"You make my life so melodious," he smiled at her.